


Play The Game

by NKIqbal



Category: We Will Rock You - Elton/May/Taylor
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:12:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7601197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NKIqbal/pseuds/NKIqbal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After performing We Will Rock You at my school, me and my friend realised that there is so much sexual tension between the two actors playing Khashoggi and Galileo. So we ended up writing this crazy fic! Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the first chapter of a fanfic developed by me and a friend of mine.
> 
> Pairing: Khashoggi/Galileo
> 
> Rating: N/17 for certain chapters.
> 
> Characters: All of the characters from the musical and a few OCs.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters in this story (if I did then all the pairings in my fanfic would true) apart from my OCs.
> 
> Author’s Note: The story starts during the interrogation scene between Galileo and Khashoggi that took place in the actual musical.

(~When you’re feeling down and your resistance is low, just light another cigarette and let yourself go…~) 

Khashoggi was getting a cigarette; Galileo could hear the faint rasp of paper on card behind him as the commander pulled one from the pack. He was somewhere behind the sofa, whose leather was dark and warm as the room it sat in. It might have been preferable to the interrogation chairs, but Galileo perched just as ramrod-straight as he had then, just enough quiet defiance in the splay of his legs to show Khashoggi that he wasn’t buying a single note of the older man’s sudden change of tune.

A click of flint, and Khashoggi was circling the sofa, lit cigarette in long fingers, to stand just to Galileo’s side. Resting his free hand on the dreamer’s shoulder, he smiled faintly, “Tell me, boy—”

“I’m not ‘boy’!” cried Galileo indignantly, “I’ve got a name!”

“Very well,” Khashoggi hummed softly, as though indulging a small child; and then Galileo was forced into the back of the sofa, as in one fluid movement the other man was over him, straddling his thighs. Khashoggi took a slow drag on the cigarette before speaking; “Tell me, /Galileo Figaro/-” he noticed, amongst his own thoughts, the way Galileo shivered beneath him when his teeth dragged over his lip on the ‘F’ “-about your dreams. About the voices, the…music.”

Galileo’s eyes widened, entranced, as he watched the last vestiges of smoke curling around Khashoggi’s lips. Pupils blown, he startled, plastering a contemptuous frown on his face a few moments too late to be convincing. “Thanks. I love watching people poison their lungs with that crap,” he managed to sneer.

Khashoggi dropped his gaze from Galileo’s, grinning wickedly at what he saw; “My my, don’t you just.”

Galileo followed his eyes down with an inaudible gasp of realisation, a violent blush blooming across his face as he squirmed nervously. “One less p-p-pain in my ass if you k-kick the bucket, is all…”

Khashoggi’s laugh was sudden and mocking, and as the man’s hand wove around his neck and into his hair Galileo could feel it thrum through his chest cavity. Every muscle in his body tense, fight or flight battling in his head, he found he couldn’t, /wouldn’t/ move. Right then, all he could do was stare at Khashoggi as he took another long pull on the cigarette, eyes hooded, attention momentarily focused on the nicotine before realigning to Galileo. “Don’t play hard-to-get, boy, it’s quite unbecoming,” he smirked, taking a final drag of the cigarette before flicking it away, burnt out.

Galileo unconsciously shifted, as he brought his face a hairsbreadth from the commander’s. “Don’t call me ‘b-b-boy’!” he scowled, trying to ignore the warm breath of the other man prickling his skin. “My name is—”

His voice died in his throat as a pair of lips burned suddenly against his own. “Galileo,” Khashoggi whispered against the shocked purse of his mouth, emblazoning the words into the flesh with tingling, stolen kisses, “Galileo…Figaro…”

Galileo’s hands grasped wildly at Khashoggi’s thighs, his blazer, his arms, anything to try and pull those lips in closer, his own fumbling hungrily against them. He moaned into the kiss, and Khashoggi grinned, teeth bared as he yanked the young man’s head back by his hair. Galileo inhaled sharply, and whimpered; Khashoggi ran a soothing thumb over the other’s jawline as he drew himself up, looming over Galileo, grin never faltering. “It’s so easy when you know the rules, isn’t it?” Galileo tugged on his sleeves, biting his lip, and he let them crash together once more.

Interrogations could wait until morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second chapter of a fanfic developed by me and a friend of mine.
> 
> Pairing: Khashoggi/Galileo
> 
> Rating: N/17 for certain chapters.
> 
> Characters: All of the characters from the musical and a few OCs.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters in this story (if I did then all the pairings in my fanfic would true) apart from my OCs.
> 
> Author’s Note: The story starts during the interrogation scene between Galileo and Khashoggi that took place in the actual musical. I hope everyone likes this story!!!

The sunlight coming through the full-length window shone onto young Galileo’s face, waking him from his deep slumber. After slowly opening his eyes, Galileo realised he was not in his interrogation cell.

“What the…” puzzled by his current surroundings, Galileo shot out of the extremely comfortable bed and looked around for his clothes, which were surprisingly not on his person. Whilst looking for each article of his clothing, Galileo noticed that he was in someone’s bedroom. The walls were an extremely soft shade of cream, whilst all the furniture as well as the fireplace was a different shade of either light grey or pale blue. Everything was neat and organised, well apart from the bed that he had been sleeping in. Naked. Galileo slowly walked out of the room, trying his level best not to make any noise. He peaked outside the door to see if anyone was around. Smelling the waft of freshly cooked pancakes, Galileo realised that he was quite hungry. So he cautiously walked through the narrow corridor, and towards what he assumed was the kitchen. As soon as Galileo stepped into the kitchen, he noticed a pale man in his early 20s, standing by the sink without a shirt on. The man had his head down, so Galileo couldn’t see his face, but he could definitely see red scratch marks on the man’s back, that contrasted intensely against his skin tone.

“You seriously need to learn to be discrete boy…” the man sighed and lifted his head.

“DON’T CALL ME… K-Khashoggi!?” the realisation finally hit Galileo like a ton of bricks. Images from the previous night started to flash rapidly in front of his eyes. Very graphic images. Oh dear…

Upon seeing Galileo’s shocked expression, Khashoggi smirked, “Well don’t just stand there… Sit down and eat your breakfast.”

Galileo shook himself and removed his gaze from Khashoggi to look towards the island in the kitchen. Sitting on top of the grey marble surface, was a plate stacked high with pancakes that were covered in golden syrup, cut strawberries and a heap of whip cream. Galileo swiftly walked towards the island, sat down on the stool, and started to devour the delicious pancakes.

“Slow down boy.” Khashoggi chuckled.

Galileo groaned, “I have a name, it’s…”

“Galileo Figaro,” Khashoggi whispered into Galileo’s left ear, making him shudder.

“W-will y-you p-p-please st-stop that?” Galileo began to go red.

Khashoggi chuckled whilst whispering, “Stop what Galileo…”

“J-just st-stop. P-please… W-why are y-you d-d-doing this?” Galileo was becoming more and more scared of Khashoggi’s behaviour. Maybe a little aroused too. Maybe.

“You weren’t complaining last night…” Khashoggi was having way too much fun getting beneath young Galileo’s skin. Khashoggi was definitely amused and thought that Galileo’s stutter was actually quite cute. Especially when he blushed.

“To be perfectly honest, I think you enjoyed it.” Galileo shifted uncomfortably under Khashoggi’s gaze, finally deciding to get up off the stool and create a distance between himself and the older man. Khashoggi decided that he didn’t really like Galileo being so far away from him, and took a step forward.

“St-stop!” Galileo held his hand up, too afraid to look directly at Khashoggi. He quickly turned around and started to walk out, “I need to leave!”

“Wait.” Khashoggi sighed, “I just want you to know that if you decide to leave right now, then don’t ever think about coming back. AND don’t you dare expect me to treat you any differently from the other rebels. By the way, you have to clean up this mess on my island and make my bed before you even think about stepping out of my house.”

Galileo chewed on his bottom lip, contemplating whether all of this was some sort of trap or if Khashoggi really wanted him there. He took a deep breath, turned around and walked back to the stool beside the island, sitting down and finishing his pancakes.

“Alright then. Now that we have that out of the way, feel free to do whatever you like. There is a huge range of books in my study, a television in the living room and your laptop is on my bedside table. Just make sure to keep everything tidy and organised. I really don’t like it when things are out of place. I have to run a few errands for the Killer Queen and I’ll hopefully be back by seven. There is food in the fridge if you get hungry. There is also warm water for when you decide to take either a shower or bath. You still have to clean the mess on my island, wash and put away the plate, knife and fork, and also make up my bed.” Much to Khashoggi’s relief, Galileo nodded through his little speech without a single word.

“W-what if s-someone c-comes h-here?” Galileo still doubted if he made the right decision.

“Don’t worry. I’m the only one who is allowed in my house. Nobody comes to visit, not even the Killer Queen. So, you will never have to face any visitors.”

“O-okay. Um… Bye?”

“Yes… Bye.” Khashoggi quickly put on his white dress shirt and grey blazer and made his way towards the door. He suddenly stopped and turned towards Galileo, who was carefully washing his plate, “It’s a good thing this house is sound-proof.” Khashoggi walked out the house with a smug look on his face, leaving a stunned Galileo in his wake.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the third chapter of a fanfic developed by me and a friend of mine.
> 
> Pairing: Khashoggi/Galileo
> 
> Rating: N/17 for certain chapters.
> 
> Characters: All of the characters from the musical and a few OCs.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters in this story (if I did then all the pairings in my fanfic would true) apart from my OCs.
> 
> Author’s Note: The story starts during the interrogation scene between Galileo and Khashoggi that took place in the actual musical. I hope everyone likes this story!

Galileo stood numbly at the sink, drying off the cutlery with unsteady hands. He searched for the right drawer and dropped them in with a clatter that echoed through the empty apartment to rattle in his skull.

Oh god, what had he done?

He had to get out of there, grab his laptop and run, pretend the world was still turning beneath his feet. Feet thudding against the pristine floorboards, he returned to Khashoggi’s bedroom, making to go for the bedside table where his laptop lay, and froze in the doorway.

The bed. The bloody bed.

Galileo raked a hand through his dark, bed-mussed hair, and moved slowly into the room. As he straightened the sheets and fluffed the pillows, thoughts of what had disheveled the bed so thoroughly danced around his mind despite his best efforts to ignore them, a flush like pinpricks of heat across his face and neck. A sigh escaped his lips as he stared, lost, at the duck-egg blue bedspread, before he grabbed his laptop and spun on his heel. To the door, he just had to get to the door, and it would be easy to step through. …Or maybe he could have a quick shower before he left.

He emerged from the warm respite of the shower, hair clinging to his scalp and forehead. Catching sight of himself in the mirror, the man reflected looked at him with wide eyes, taking in the image. His bottom lip was a little swollen; a few maroon splashes, bruise-like, on the flesh between his neck and shoulder; a chafing around his wrists where he had been handcuffed during interrogation; bold brush strokes of darkness under his eyes. He wished he felt as wrecked as he looked. Hair roughly toweled dry, Galileo pulled his clothes back on, feeling instantly the grime of the last two days. Resisting the urge to find something else to wear, he forced himself to hang up the towel and make his way back to the front door. He passed the living room, door ajar, and gave it a cursory glance before that too reminded him of why he was leaving. Why he had to leave.

He just couldn’t make sense of anything that had happened, and he wanted to leave, he really did. At least, it seemed like a good idea to want to leave, and as always, Galileo listened to his head when all around him told him not to. He grasped the doorknob, laptop balanced in the crook of his other arm, and took a deep breath. He wanted to leave, to return to the solitude of his rooms, to curl up and sleep alone until the ache seeped out of his heart. Didn’t he?

He wanted something more than that, needed something more than that, felt it deep in the marrow of his bones. A rooftop to scream from, a love song to cry over, action, emotion, adventure, change. He needed another world.

His hand dropped from the doorknob, and he turned, silently making his way to the study. Khashoggi had said something about books…

The veil of a summer night had long since fallen over the world, when Khashoggi stepped into his apartment, a sigh of relief flooding from his lungs. He slipped out of his blazer, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar with one hand as the other searched for the light switch. With a quiet hum, the hallway was illuminated, light and shadow pooling in an open doorway to the left - his study.

So, the boy had stayed after all.

Khashoggi rolled his shoulders, feeling some of the tension melt away. Galileo had stayed. This was an interesting development…

Kicking off his shoes, pausing to put them and the blazer in their places, he padded softly to the study, glancing in, unsure what to expect.

The image of Galileo surrounded by books, leaning against a bookcase as he slept, an open tome resting on his lap, was not what he’d imagined. But there the books sat, in seemingly random piles to either side - books on music history, a biography of the Bohemian prophet Mercury, a few novels (‘The Prisoner of Azkaban’ looked significantly more dog-eared than he remembered). And still open was a book of Ancient Mythology, the pages bearing an illustration of an object called Pandora’s Box. Khashoggi had read it before, numerous times - it was a valuable text in the understanding, and thus crushing, hope. He wondered idly why it had appealed to Galileo, moving quietly into the room.

The reading lamp in the corner cast a gentle glow over Galileo’s slumbering face, where the tiniest of smiles was playing out. His cheekbones caught the light, pale complexion giving them the look of being carved, sculpted. Dark hair sat unruly on his head, a little falling over his brow. The calm of sleep had seeped some of the anger and fear from the young man, and it suited him. Kneeling down before his slumbering form, Khashoggi cupped the side of Galileo’s face, tilting it towards him. He was, Khashoggi observed, a rather lovely specimen.

Galileo gave an almost-purr, leaning into the touch as his eyes began to open and his mind return from sleep. He blinked at Khashoggi, their eyes meeting for a long moment before he realised his situation, face contorting a little with embarrassment. The older man’s hand instantly pulled away a fraction, the contact lost but the warmth remaining. Galileo broke the eye contact, staring intently at a pile of books and mumbling under his breath.

“Galileo.”

The dreamer froze at the utterance of his name, eyes flicking back to Khashoggi, who smirked to himself. He stood fluidly, reaching out a hand to Galileo. “Come to bed,” he said, more demand than suggestion, and Galileo tensed. Khashoggi rolled his eyes; “I’m exhausted, and so, it would seem, are you. So come to bed, Galileo. I’m sure the bed is more comfortable than the floor.”

Chewing his lip, Galileo pushed the book from his legs and took the offered hand, grimacing as he stood. “I-I’ll say,” he replied, and let himself be led away.


End file.
